The Devil's in the Details

Prologue

A woman sits in a deli. It’s just your regular, average kosher style deli where corned beef on rye is ordered a hundred times during the hours of eleven and three on any given day, other than the Sabbath, of course. The woman sits in a booth in the back, out of the way of the hustle and bustle of the Thursday lunch crowd. She reads a paper, laughing out loud as she reads a Dilbert comic.

Once she’s finished, she folds up the paper and looks towards the door. She’s waiting for someone. The waitress comes by and tips her coffee pot, filling the woman’s cup. The woman looks the waitress in the eye and thanks her, a sincere smile accompanying her words of gratitude.

Only a moment later, a man in an overcoat carrying a briefcase walks through the front door of the deli, scanning the restaurant with his eyes until they fall on the woman. They see each other. The man strides purposefully toward the booth.

The woman rises from the vinyl-wrapped bench to greet him.

The man looks her up and down, from the four inch pumps to the pink pant suit and up to her face where she wears her most attractive accessory: her sardonic grin. “This is new,” he says with a nod towards her.

Her grin widens as she acknowledges his approval. “You have to shake things up every once in a while.”

The man points to her bench. “Shall we?”

She makes no move. “What? It’s been this long and I don’t get a proper greeting?”

The man frowns and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t suspect you’re looking for something as improper as a hug, are you?”

She laughs and extends her hand. “A handshake will do.”

He takes her hand into his own and marvels at the strength he feels coursing through her fingers and into his own. It has been a long time since he has felt her touch. A sweat breaks out in the small of his back.

“Sit,” she says as she releases his hand and resumes her seat on the bench.

He waits until she is in place before he slides into the booth.

“What are you having?” She asks, picking up her menu. “I just love deli. It’s been too long.”

The man tilts his head. “Why has it been too long? Why don’t you come whenever you like?”

She puts down the menu and stares into his eyes, the smile disappearing from her face. “Well. That would make me just like you, wouldn’t it?”

He drops his eyes; sorry he was naïve enough to ask such a stupid question, especially of her. “I’m sorry.”

She grabs her menu again, not sparing him another glance. “I’m over it. So what are you having?”

His confidence is shaken; he didn’t dare let his guard down long enough to look at the menu. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

She frowns. “That’s hardly inspiring.”

“I’m not here to inspire you. You hardly need me for that.”

“So tell me, then.” She picks up her coffee cup, bringing it to her lips. “Why are you here?”

The waitress arrives to take their order. The man nods at the woman, deferring to her.

She turns to the waitress. “I’ll have pastrami on a poppy bagel, extra mustard and my friend here will have a potato knish with extra gravy. Oh, and lots of pickles for us both, please.”

The waitress looks at the man. “And to drink?”

“Coffee will be fine, thank you.”

Once the waitress leaves, the woman returns to her question, not bothering to explain the food order. “So you were going to tell me why you asked me to meet you. I hardly think it’s to beg my forgiveness.”

The man shifts in his seat. “No. But I would like to ask you a favor.”

“Well this should be interesting.” She lifts her cup again. “I’m listening.”

“I need you to let more people in.”

The cup freezes midway to her mouth. She holds his gaze as she waits for him to explain.

“I can’t handle the volume. I need you to take some people into…your organization.”

She blinks twice before she speaks. “We had an agreement. You signed a contract.”

The waitress returns with the coffee. The man stares at his steaming cup until the waitress retreats. “I know we had a deal, but I just can’t handle it. Can’t you make an exception? I’m sure you’d rather have more people with you anyway.”

“You hold people to your deals. Why should I do this?” All of the amusement is gone from her voice.

He knows he’s upset her, making him more nervous. He attempts a joke. “Just think of how you can rub my nose in this failure. That would be worth it, wouldn’t it?”

He has misstepped again.

She scowls. “I am not like you. Do not project your vengeful and malicious ways on me. There was a time when I wanted nothing but the best for you. I mentored you and groomed you to work at my side, but it is your ego and endless ambition that got you where you are. And although I’m sure you think you did it all on your own, you didn’t. Just remember that if I didn’t have a small space in my heart for you, you wouldn’t be where you are. And never, ever, think for one millisecond that I am one iota like you.”

He wraps his hands around his hot cup, aching for warmth to take away the chill in her voice. “I do know that I owe everything to you. I know I’ve made mistakes and probably haven’t done the best job in thanking or even acknowledging you, but I do know what I owe to you. But I am here begging for this now. You know I would do anything to not have to come to you for help, but I’m in over my head.”

She exhales and rolls her eyes. “Did you at least prepare a presentation?”

For the first time since he entered the restaurant, the man allows himself a smile. Perhaps he is winning her over. He pulls a computer from his briefcase and opens it up on the table, angling it for them both to see.

She snorts as she eyes the screen. “Figures you’d have a pc with Windows. But he’s mine in the end, you know; he does good things.”

His smile turns to a toothy grin.

She reaches for her coffee. “Fine, Luce. I’m here, I’m intrigued. Now convince me why I should allow more people into Heaven.”

Chapter 1

I was getting stressed. No, that was an understatement: I was beyond getting stressed. I was stressed. Period.

Everything had turned completely upside down in my life.

For starters, my favorite (yet totally eccentric) Aunt Serena had recently lost her long battle with breast cancer. My mother, even though she had known her sister’s death was imminent, was completely falling apart. It was like an echo of when Benji, my little brother had died years ago at the age of seven from a terrible bike accident.

Mom was coming completely undone. It was easy to see why, and I totally felt for her, but the pressure on me was becoming unbearable.

And then there was my job. It wasn’t brain surgery or anything; I was the Executive Assistant to Stan Harper, a cheating, conniving blowhard VP at The Monarch Bank of Canada but I was constantly afraid his not-so-thinly veiled threats would one day translate to my being suddenly unemployed.

The only bright spot to my job was that my very best friend, Claire worked there too (She had helped me get the job, a gesture for which I will never forgive her). But she had just announced her long time fiancée was getting a transfer to Paris and couldn’t bear life without her so he’d proposed. Yes, my best friend was getting married and moving to Paris with her new husband.

Yeah, life was pretty shitty.

Mark was the only solace in my whirling world of chaos. Thank God for Mark. Mark had been the one who listened to my twenty minute tirade the day Stan had almost fired me. Almost.

When I no longer had words left, but only tears, Mark had finally sat me down on the couch to tell me the obvious.

“Listen, Beck. You’re not sleeping properly, and even when you do manage to get to sleep, you’re having nightmares and talking through the night. You’re freaking out over little things. You need some help with this, obviously more help than I can offer.”

I looked up at my fiancée and sighed. His blue eyes were filled with concern which made him that much sexier. “God, I love you.”

“And I love you.” He said, squeezing my hand. “Which is why I seriously think you need some help.”

“My mother needs help, I just need some sleep,” I assured him, a little weirded out that he wasn’t telling any silly jokes. Mark was all about the jokes. But not today.

“Why don’t you think about going to a shrink; you’ve got a lot on your plate and I think you could really use to talk to someone.”

“I’m fine,” I protested, turning to look for the tv converter.

“You’re not fine, Beck. You’re losing it. You can’t see it the way I do, but you are.”

Maybe a kiss would shut him up. I leaned in, but he backed away.

“Listen Beck. I don’t think you’re crazy or anything. I just think you need to blow off some steam. I’m always here for you, you know that, but I just…I don’t know, I’m just not good at helping. You need a professional.”

A professional? I probably would have punched him if he hadn’t been right.

But I wasn’t looking for any deep psychoanalysis; I knew what was wrong and most of it would pass. Once all the drama was over, I was sure I would settle back into my boring and mundane life. No, I didn’t need a shrink, I needed some drugs.

Even Mark would agree that sleep; even drug induced sleep, would be a good thing.

So the next day I deliberately put an issue of Forbes on Stan’s desk first thing, well before his arrival, to distract him from any actual work which might require my assistance (it was a week old and had already been read by both me, Mark and Claire, but I doubted Stan would notice). This enabled me to duck out of the office unnoticed to go see Dr. Chang.

After a series of questions and assurances on my part that I would be okay and just needed some sleep, Dr. Chang prescribed me some Xanax which she assured would not only help with the anxiety, but would likely help me sleep as well.

Grateful, I had taken the prescription right to the pharmacy, eager to start my drug therapy that very same night. Just knowing I would be medicated made me feel a hundred times better when I returned to the office.

I didn’t even feel guilty when, after being absent from my desk for over an hour, I left for lunch with Claire, leaving Satan to his magazine. Behind his closed office door, he was none the wiser. Maybe I would stop stealing his magazines. Not having him breathing down my neck was quite a refreshing change.

#

I was going to be on my own for the evening; Mark was out of town at some computer geek convention with most of the guys from his company. All I knew for sure was that he was somewhere near Chicago; which was really all I needed to know along with the knowledge that he would call me precisely at ten pm to check in. He always did. Along with being cute and funny, he was thoughtful and always on time. There was no wonder why I was marrying him.

After work, I stopped at the grocery store and got myself a ready made tray of sushi for one. Mark refused to even try sushi, no matter how many times I assured him that it wasn’t all raw fish and that he’d probably like it.

But I had declared it Rebecca’s self care night, and that began with a tray of inari and California rolls.

So when I walked into my apartment, I was in a good mood, looking forward to an evening completely dedicated to me: sushi, a hot bath and sit-coms while curled up in my pajamas on the couch. Then I would take one of my new pills and drift off to the first fitful sleep I’d had in almost a week.

And I have to say that most of the evening did go as planned. I even managed to fall asleep shortly after Mark’s call. Maybe his voice had a calming effect on me or maybe it was more the drugs, I don’t know, but I drifted off before I even realized.

But my triumph over the elusive sandman was short lived. My eyes popped open at one-seventeen and I knew that sadly, I was in for another long sleepless night.

I stayed in bed, deep in denial, for the first ten minutes, counting stucco bumps on my ceiling. When I got to four-hundred and seventy, I knew I was done and threw back the sheets, succumbing to the pervasive insomnia. I shoved my feet into my slippers and with a sigh, headed to the kitchen. I poured a mug of milk and heated it into the microwave, having read that the enzymes in milk would help put me to sleep. Not that it had worked any other night.

I caught a glimpse of the pill bottle I had just picked up from the pharmacy that morning. I snorted, disappointed in what I had hoped was the wonder drug. Mind you, it did get me to sleep. I picked up the bottle and opened it looking at the little pills inside. What the hell. I took two and shoved them to the back of my tongue holding them there until my milk was ready in five…four…three…two…beep.

Five minutes later the entire mug of milk had joined two more of the pills and I felt no closer to sleep. I figured I’d better head back to bed even if it meant laying there staring at the ceiling. At least I would be getting some rest.

But as I kicked off my slippers, I looked at my wedding gown, hanging on the outside of my closet, looking stunning. It was a shame I’d only get to wear it once, since it looked better on me than anything else I owned. Although, I suppose that was how it was supposed to work.

Instead of turning out the light and crawling into bed, I took off my pajamas, pulled the gown from its protective bag and shimmied into it. I topped the outfit off, sliding the comb of the veil into my unbrushed hair.

I looked in the mirror and fell in love with the gown again. I was getting married. Not just married, but eloped, if that is even a word. I was getting secretly married on a cruise ship. And although it was just about the most romantic thing Mark and I could ever do, a little part of my brain nagged at me, reminding me that I was denying my mother the pleasure of planning a big elaborate simcha that would be the talk of her Hadassah chapter for years. God help us all if my sister Erin turned out to be a lesbian or otherwise denied my mother her last chance at a big wedding.

But I pushed that out of my head – brides shouldn’t have to worry about such things. Their job was to be beautiful and glamorous.

Feeling beautiful and glamorous, I never wanted to take it off. Not even feeling the slightest bit silly, I danced around my bedroom, pretending Mark’s strong arms were around me. Each time I caught a glance of myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but smile.

Finally, I stopped dancing and took a long look in the mirror. It fit perfectly. The only thing disappointing about what I was looking at were the dark, puffy bags under my eyes, evidence of my recent troubled nights. I was beyond exhausted; even my work was slipping and I’d found myself zoning out at my desk several times through the day. I just needed a good night’s sleep.

Maybe another bath would do it. I had taken one earlier in the night and it had helped, but stupidly, I’d stayed up watching TV until the soothing effects of the bath had worn off. Yeah, maybe another bath…

Still in my gown and bare feet, I headed into the bathroom to run the water. My old claw foot tub would take ages to fill so I shuffled back to the kitchen for some more milk, marveling at how cold the tile floor was. Opening the fridge door, I saw the half bottle of merlot Mark and I had opened the night before. I left the milk where it was in favor of the wine. Wine always made me sleepy and who was I kidding? – it tasted way better.

Not bothering with a glass, I pulled the cork from the bottle and took a swig. It didn’t go well with the belly full of milk, but I figured it had to help. If I’d had turkey in the house I would have had that too: that’s how desperate I was to get to sleep.

Wine bottle in hand, I headed back to the bathroom. The tub was filling, but not yet enough. I sat on the edge, swigging at my wine.

I leaned over and dipped my fingers into the tub. The warm water felt good. I closed my eyes. The blackness began to swirl around me.

Dragging my eyelids up again, I took another swig of the wine. My feet were cold against the tile. But the water was warm. Still sitting on the edge of the tub, I swung my legs and dipped my feet into the warm water.

Ah, that’s better. The water feels so good.

The hem of my gown floated on top of the water, looking so pretty all fanned out. Just a bit more wine to warm the belly. There was only a bit left. May as well finish.

I slid the empty bottle onto the vanity.

My head swirled like the water whoshing into the tub. It was so loud, the water rushing in, reminding me of the last time Mark and I had gone to Niagara Falls.

Mark.

My fiancée.

He’s going to love the dress.

I smiled.

He’s going to love how it makes my boobs look.

Eyelids are getting heavy.

My feet felt so good, enveloped in the warm water.

The rest of my body ached to join them.

Well why not? It’s just water, it won’t hurt the gown.

I slipped completely into the tub.

Yes, that’s perfect.

I closed my eyes and lay back, finally, finally able to completely relax.